


To Sir, With Love

by boywholivednotdied



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Asexual Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Tutor Fic, but with a twist, classic me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywholivednotdied/pseuds/boywholivednotdied
Summary: When Adam agreed to tutor a younger Aglionby student, he did not expect him to be the sweetest kid ever. He also definitely did not expect to fall for the kid's Latin-obsessed older brother.





	To Sir, With Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshineinthestorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineinthestorm/gifts).



> This is my 2017 Pynch Secret Santa exchange gift for [sunshineinthestorm!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineinthestorm/pseuds/sunshineinthestorm)
> 
> I know this doesn't really tie in with any of the prompts you gave me - I sort of just ran with the fact that you were OK with seeing a bunch of Declan and Matthew in this fic. I hope you enjoy it anyway, and happy holidays! <3 
> 
> Warnings include: Brief mention of Adam's abuse, lots of swearing (of the Kavinsky variety, but also Ronan is in this, so you know there's lots of Ronan's ""poetry""). 
> 
> Also, IMMENSE thanks to my buddy [Kasket](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasket/pseuds/Kasket) who not only read this fic more than once and edited it and gave suggestions, but who also proved to be the most amazing encouraging friend. Thank you for making me not hate this fic

Matthew Lynch was not what Adam expected.

Granted, Adam had never tutored before, and didn’t have much experience when it came to meeting new students. But he still hadn’t expected the kid to look so delighted by his presence.

And he’d _definitely_ not expected an Aglionby student to look so excited at the prospect of spending the next two hours studying. 

When Mr. Clarke had suggested Adam tutor a local kid in math and Latin, Adam had scoffed. He’d never wanted to teach, had never had any interest in it, even if he _was_ an advocate for encouraging education. He’d only agreed to try tutoring when he discovered what the kid’s family would be paying - because regardless of whether Adam wanted to pursue teaching in the future, the fact of the matter was he’d do anything well if there was enough monetary incentive to do it. And this was definitely enough monetary incentive. 

Adam had moved out of his house at the tender age of 18, leaving his parents well behind him, and was currently renting a small dingy apartment above a fast-food restaurant that had no hot water or air conditioning. He knew that the tutoring fees from the kid, coupled with the money from his other two jobs, would actually allow him to save enough to afford a better apartment. The thought was too tempting to resist. 

Mr. Clarke taught at Mountain View where Adam studied, but he tutored kids from other schools on the side, and this particular raven boy could only take classes on a day when Mr. Clarke had lifeguard duty at the club. So Mr. Clarke had told the boy’s family that he would try and see if his best student from Mountain View would take on the job instead. 

His best student being Adam. 

So Adam agreed. Only for the money. 

Mr. Clarke had informed Adam that Matthew was ‘a little bit of a space cadet.’ What Adam had taken this to mean was that Matthew Lynch was a typical Aglionby boy who gave a total of zero shits about his education and was just planning on coasting by on his money.  That was who Adam was expecting when the door opened - an obnoxious, haughty, disinterested rich kid, potentially one wearing khaki shorts and chewing gum with his mouth open. He was _not_ expecting Matthew Lynch, who was practically hopping from foot to foot with excitement as he let Adam into the sprawling apartment.

A tall boy with sharp cheekbones and curly black hair who might have been attractive, but was too intimidating for Adam to be sure, stood by the sofa, eyes fixed on the television that was playing the news. He seemed only a year or so older than Adam, but when he turned to Adam and introduced himself as ‘Matthew’s brother, Declan,’ Adam noted that he held himself with confidence and professionalism that would make a veteran businessman jealous. He gave Adam a break-down of the offer - Adam would tutor Matthew for two lessons to begin with. A trial round, of sorts. This was not for any reason except for the fact that Adam was not a licensed teacher or from a tutoring company. If Matthew felt Adam was helping him, then Adam could stay on and continue teaching him. If Matthew’s grades did not improve, however, Adam would be replaced. 

Adam was told all of this simply - there was no disapproval or judgement in the speech - but Adam was uncomfortable by the tone of voice used by the man anyway. He understood it objectively, but the fact that he was being treated as something so easily replaceable was infuriating. There was also an aloofness to Matthew’s older brother, an arrogance that grated on Adam. 

Adam was close to saying something dangerously snarky when Declan informed Adam that Matthew had a mild case of ADHD. Adam had already been reassessing all his previous assumptions about Aglionby boys and Matthew Lynch in particular, but this sent him into another spiral, which also included a barrage of self-doubts about his teaching abilities, until Matthew grabbed Adam’s arm and gave him a tour of his room and a low-down of all the things he was studying. He was like the human version of sunshine, all enthusiastic speeches and large doe eyes, practically radiating sweetness and warmth, and as they sat down to work, Adam felt all his apprehension ebb away. Even Adam’s preconceived notions about Aglionby boys being assholes couldn’t help him.

By the end of meeting number one itself, Adam was completely and utterly endeared by the charming innocence of Matthew Lynch. There was no question about it then; if Matthew was going to have a tutor, it was going to be Adam or no one. 

And so it was. 

*** 

The first time Matthew talked about his family was in their fourth session together. 

“You know,” Matthew had said, idly flipping through his textbook as Adam checked his homework. “White-tailed Deer are really good swimmers so they can escape predators.” 

Matthew was easily distracted and talked excessively, but his favourite topics usually included his friends, television shows or hypothetical situations set in fictional universes. Adam had learned over the course of their month-long relationship that the only way to counter his distraction was to firmly direct Matthew’s focus back to the work at hand, or else give him vague, unforthcoming answers that encouraged Matthew to drop the topic. 

Adam had hummed in response. He was all set to distract Matthew, but the work before him and the unusual nature of the topic gave Adam pause. 

“My brother taught me that,” Matthew said. “He knows lots about animals.” 

“Is that right?” Adam asked. 

“We have a farm, you know? Outside of Henrietta. It’s getting some work done right now, but we’re moving back in as soon as everything is fixed. We call it the Barns.” 

Adam was amused by the idea of posh Aglionby boys Matthew and Declan living on a farm, but he said nothing, choosing to focus instead on checking Matthew’s answers. Matthew talked for a minute more about cows and sheep, and then Adam made a comment about equations that gently steered Matthew back to his homework. The conversation was dropped and did not crop up again for the rest of the tutoring session. 

The second time, Matthew had finished a practice test, and they were taking a break. Adam didn’t want to put too much pressure on him, particularly after he’d done so well, so he let Matthew ramble on. Admittedly, Adam was a little intrigued. The fact that the Lynch brothers lived on a farm had charmed him in a way that was a little surprising. 

This time, Matthew talked about Irish music competitions, and how his brother had an incredible singing voice. Matthew didn’t mention what _he_ did in these competitions - he had a bad habit of not filling in context clues - but he spoke at length about the instruments his brother could play, his natural sense of rhythm, and how he could memorise songs after just two listens. 

“He never sang in front of people though,” Matthew said. “Which sucks because he’s a really good singer. He was embarrassed I guess. I think he didn’t want people to know he could sing.” 

“That sounds like a waste,” Adam agreed. He was only humouring Matthew. He was sure Declan had his reasons for not wanting to sing in front of people. 

“I know!” Matthew agreed. “It’s so dumb. He’s so freaking good. When we were kids he used to sing to me before bed.” 

“He used to sing you to sleep?” Adam asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Matthew nodded, his curls flying every which way. “Yeah. Just like my dad used to.” 

Then Matthew got quiet, and Adam sensed the topic of their father was a difficult one, so he didn’t push. He wasn’t a fan of conversations about fathers anyway. He made an off-hand remark about the weather and Matthew accepted the bait. 

The third time was what did it. 

Matthew talked about how his brother could speak three languages - Latin, Gaelic and English - and how he used to write poetry in Latin on slips of paper which he then hid under the floorboards of his room. 

It was true that Adam loved Latin, that he studied it for fun and thought the language was beautiful beyond words. But it wasn’t just that factor that he loved. It was the fact that Declan would write poetry in another language for himself. It wasn’t something Declan was planning on showing other people - it was just something that he _had_ to do, something that possessed him in that moment. Hiding that poetry under his floorboards seemed like the kind of thing only someone who was the right combination of intelligent and shy would do, and it struck Adam as heart-wrenchingly endearing. 

That day, when Declan Lynch walked him to the door, Adam had a hard time making eye-contact with him. 

It was hard to reconcile this image of Declan with the stories Matthew had been telling him, and it left Adam with a confusing knot in his gut whenever he saw the older boy. Declan seemed very much _not_ his type. He was stiff and intimidating, and had the aura of a reserved politician. He seemed like someone who thrived on lies, not someone who sang beautifully and wrote Latin poetry and told his little brother factoids about deer and cows. 

He knew Declan was a good brother, but Adam wished he could see that other side of him - even a brief glimpse in their conversations or in his mannerisms - something that hinted at his love for dead languages, or interest in animal biology, or fascination with Irish music. Because the truth was, the more Adam heard about this side of Declan, the more he fell in love with it. 

***

Adam’s second job was at a supermarket. He hated it the most out of all three of his jobs because it was the most mindless one. Sure, it involved math, but it was basic math that didn’t exactly challenge him at all. Plus, it involved dealing with some of the most infuriating people Adam had ever met in his entire life. Over the course of the last year, he’d met a woman who made him ring up sixteen items before deciding she didn’t want any of them, a man who tried to return an opened box of condoms, and a child who spilled his pixie stix powder all over the cash register and then had the audacity to cry about it. 

But any of them would have been better than the punk kid who walked in. 

Adam immediately knew he’d be trouble from the way that he walked. Anyone who walked with such impudence wasn’t going to be a pleasant customer. The boy slammed down a six-pack of beer and four bags of marshmallows in front of Adam, and then waited by the counter with a bored expression as Adam rang them up. He had a shaved head and piercing eyes that looked vaguely familiar, and when he turned Adam could see dark lines of a tattoo sticking out from his collar. 

This was the kind of person Adam had expected Matthew Lynch to be. 

“Do you have an ID?” Adam asked, glancing at the six-pack. 

The boy threw Adam an unamused look and then did a slow, exaggerated motion of slapping the pockets of his jeans. 

“Nope,” he said, finally. “I guess I forgot it at home.” 

Adam frowned. The casual nonchalance of the boy was already grating up against him. He counted down to ten in his head and pulled his expression back into place, not wanting to get irritable, not wanting to let his exhaustion show. 

“How old are you?” Adam asked. 

He looked about Adam’s age, even though he gave off the aura of a rebellious sixteen year old. 

The boy rubbed his chin, which was covered in a fine layer of stubble. “It’s not polite to ask people their age.” 

“I think that’s only applicable for middle aged women.” 

The boy’s voice was deadpan when he responded. “I’m 87.” 

Adam scoffed. “I’m not ringing this beer up for you without an ID.” 

He made to grab the beer, but the boy leaned over the counter, so that his cologne enveloped Adam, clogged up his nostrils. Adam remained rooted in place, not one to be intimidated by snobby assholes. 

“Fuck man,” the boy said. “Can’t you just let this go? I’m going to a party and it’s bring your own booze.” 

“That doesn’t sound like my problem,” Adam said, trying his best to keep his voice as polite and firm as possible. “I’m not allowed to sell beer to someone below the age of…” 

“Don’t be such a fucking goody two shoes.” 

Adam sucked in a ragged breath. “I have a job to do,” he said, curtly. 

He grabbed the beer off the counter and shoved it under the table. 

The boy scowled, light blue eyes squinted at Adam. There really was something strangely familiar about him. Adam racked his mind but was distracted when the boy crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

It wasn’t that his arms were distracting. Which they _weren’t._ It was that he was now getting into a defensive stance. Which meant that some form of verbal abuse was coming Adam’s way. 

Perks of working in retail. 

“How old are _you?”_

Adam was equal parts confused and affronted by the question. 

“Excuse me?” he asked. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Nothing man, I just thought you were a teenage guy, but seems like you’re actually my fucking grandma.” 

“Sorry I don’t want to risk my job so some asshole with buzzcut can get a nice high,” Adam sneered. 

He was instantly jarred by his own comment. Not by the words themselves, but the fact that he’d actually spoken them out loud. The boy raised his eyebrows, clearly as taken aback as Adam was. Adam would never in a million years have talked to a customer like that. He’d even managed to keep his cool with ‘need-to-return-these-defective-condoms’ man. Yet, there was something about this kid with his attitude and sneer that made Adam’s blood boil. 

Adam turned back to the cash register. He shoved the marshmallow packets into a bag and announced the boy’s total. The boy’s gaze burned into his skin, his lips pressed together as he rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of crushed dollar bills. 

Adam grabbed them from his hand, still simmering. 

“Enjoy your marshmallows,” Adam said, scathingly. 

“Enjoy your shitty day working here,” the boy shot back. 

It wasn’t a particularly long interaction, but even hours after the boy left, Adam still found himself thinking about him and brimming with fury. 

***

“Adam,” Matthew said, sticking a pencil into his curls and twirling it around. “Do you have a girlfriend?” 

Adam didn’t look up from Matthew’s geometry book, where he was checking the answers. 

“No,” he said, only half-paying attention. 

“Do you want one?” 

Adam looked up, a little disoriented. Matthew didn’t normally ask him personal questions - which Adam appreciated. He considered deflecting it, changing the topic, but something in Matthew’s tone made Adam sense this was something he needed to answer. 

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Adam said, observing Matthew. 

Matthew squirmed in his chair, still poking the pencil in his hair. He seemed to be thinking very intensely about Adam’s answer, flipping it over and over again in his mind. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Oh…” Adam rubbed his eyes. 

He was too tired to think of what to say. He’d barely slept the night before - he’d had a late shift at Boyd’s and then had spent the rest of the night doing homework. How was he supposed to answer this question anyway? No one had ever asked him why he wanted a girlfriend. 

“It’s nice to be with someone, I guess,” Adam said. “It’s nice to… you know… have someone.” 

“To do what? Hang out with?” 

“Yeah. Along with other stuff.” 

Matthew’s brow furrowed, and it was sweet how solemn he looked. 

“My brother doesn’t either,” he said, finally. 

“Doesn’t what?” Adam asked. 

“Have a girlfriend.” 

“Oh.” 

Adam shrugged, hoping to hide the fact that he was a little flustered by that knowledge, though it struck him as odd. He was quite sure he’d seen Declan with a girl who was decidedly not just a friend but around too much to be a hook-up. 

“I don’t really think he wants one,” Matthew said. “But not the way that I don’t want one, you know?” 

Adam glanced at him from the corner of his eye. 

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Well,” Matthew said, “I think he would like to date, but not the way Declan does.” 

Now Adam was completely lost. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Declan likes lots of girls.” 

“Oh.” 

Adam felt like he was missing something big. Matthew did sometimes talk faster than he could process his thoughts, and it wasn’t unusual for Adam to be confused by him, but this was the first time he was talking in a way that made absolutely no sense. Adam ran over the sentence again in his mind - _He’s interested in dating, just not the way he’s doing it._ Maybe Matthew was trying to say that Declan was unsatisfied with his one night stands and was trying to find something more substantial. He wondered why Matthew was talking about Declan’s dating life all of a sudden, and felt the tips of his ears flush. Had Matthew caught on to Adam’s little crush on his brother? He hoped not. The thought was incredibly embarrassing. 

“You’ve done really well on this set of sums, Matthew,” Adam said, putting the book down in front of the boy and tapping it. 

Matthew beamed at him, and Adam once again reflected on how terribly fond he’d grown of his young student. 

“You help me so much, Adam,” he said. 

“You’re a good student, Matthew,” Adam said, though he couldn’t help but feel warm at the compliment. “Even your Latin has improved considerably.” 

“I can’t take credit for that,” Matthew said. “My brother helped me with that last week.” 

“Oh, did he?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah. He said that you’re not any good. That you use all the wrong words.” 

Adam stared at him in disbelief. 

“ _What?”_ he asked.  The statement was so offensive, Adam didn’t even think about how strange it was. “ _My_ Latin is just fine. Your brother is using words they aren’t even going to teach you till your senior year. Plus, if your brother looked it over already, then he should have corrected your grammar, which happened to be all over the place.”

He realised - somewhere in the back of his mind - that this was inappropriate. To insult the man who was paying him - even if he was paying Adam to teach Matthew Latin and then correcting the Latin himself - was not an ideal way of dealing with this situation. But Matthew remained unaffected by Adam’s little outburst.

“Oh, he just says things,” Matthew said, waving a hand in the air. “He knows I think you’re brilliant. I think he’s kinda jealous of how much I talk about you.” 

It was like someone had turned off a stove. Adam’s bubbling anger turned into steam and slowly vanished into evening. 

“You talk about me a lot?” Adam asked, hollowly. 

He was aware, of course, of how fond he was of Matthew, but he hadn’t realised the feeling was mutual. It was hard to tell when Matthew treated everyone like they were the most wonderful person he’d ever met. 

“You’re so smart and so awesome,” Matthew gushed. “I wish you were one of my brothers.” 

Adam’s throat closed up, blocked by something that was hard and growing larger by the minute. 

Someone liked Adam enough to wish he was a part of their family. The thought was almost overwhelming. It was unfathomable, especially considering even his own parents, people who should have been biologically inclined to want him, didn’t. Yet, here was Matthew - unprovoked - admitting to Adam that he loved him. The whole thing was threatening to bring tears to Adam’s eyes, so he changed the topic and tried to distract himself with math.  

***

A month later, the boy walked into the supermarket again. This time he was flanked by two other boys - one so pale he looked almost translucent, and another one who looked like a statue of a greek demigod had come to life and was walking around in a yellow polo. Adam was frankly surprised that punk boy was a part of such a motley crew. 

Adam wanted to believe it was coincidence that Punk Boy had landed up at his cash register again, but he wasn’t sure he believed in coincidences. 

“It’s you,” Adam said, dryly. “Are you here to get me to break the law again?” 

“Nah,” the boy said. “I just wanted to show my friends what a genuine wet blanket looked like.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, a prickle of irritation running through him. The demigod gave shaved head a stern look, while the pale boy grinned widely at Adam. He dumped a shopping basket filled to the brim with ramen noodles on the counter. Adam glanced inside to make sure there was no beer before he started ringing them up. 

“Glad there’s no alcohol in here,” Adam remarked, breezily. 

“Are you always this irritating?” Punk Boy asked. “Or is this a special performance just for me?” 

“Stop it, Ronan,” the demigod said, sternly. He turned to Adam, his face splitting into a smile that was as brilliant as it was fake. “I apologise for my friend’s behaviour.” 

Adam was too busy counting the number of ramen packets to concentrate on the apology. The next words slipped off his tongue heedlessly, without Adam thinking about them. “You should really train them before taking them out of the house.” 

Adam’s head snapped up. The pale boy snorted and then slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes twinkling with barely concealed amusement. Ronan’s mouth fell open. He gave Adam a wide-eyed look that resembled disbelief more than offence. 

“Sorry,” Adam said, hurriedly. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t…” 

“Well,” Ronan sneered. “Look who’s secretly an asshole.” 

He sounded almost approving, even though his bared teeth made him look like a panther about to strike. 

“You bring this out in people,” the demigod said with a sigh - which is exactly what Adam had been thinking - though Adam didn’t miss the wary look the demigod gave him. 

Adam didn’t know the demigod, but he already knew in his gut that he didn’t want to antagonise him. 

“I’m sorry,” Adam repeated. “Really. I didn’t… I wasn’t…” 

Ronan rested his chin on the back of his hand, looking amused at Adam’s flustered stuttering. 

“Hey, at least we know you have balls now,” he said. “I really was starting to worry you were my grandma.” 

Adam glared at him. He shoved the ramen packets into a plastic bag and handed it to the pale boy.“You’re the one who said you were 87.” 

Ronan’s face split into a grin. “I can’t believe you remember that.” 

“I tend to remember my more annoying customers,” Adam shot back, though it lacked all heat given that he was still embarrassed about his snarky comment from before. 

He glanced nervously at the demigod, who was witnessing their back and forth. He seemed unperturbed now by their ribbing, probably realising it was evenly balanced. The muscles in Adam’s back relaxed. 

“Is this your side job?” the pale boy asked. 

Adam turned to him, blinking at the random nature of the question. “It’s… one of my jobs.” 

“What’s your other job?” he asked. “Are you a model?” 

Adam would have thought the pale boy was hitting on him, but he said it with such innocence, Adam had a hard time believing that was true. Ronan threw the pale boy a glare. 

“No,” Adam said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’m Noah, by the way,” the pale boy said, offering Adam a large smile and a credit card. 

“Adam.” 

“This is Gansey,” Noah said, pointing at the demigod. “And you know Ronan.” 

“Is every one in this fucking town named Adam?” Ronan grumbled. “If I hear that name one more time I’m going to shoot myself.” 

“I hope you never have to again,” Adam muttered. 

He thought he’d been soft, but Ronan turned to look at him again. He didn’t smile, but there was something almost cheerful in the way he flipped Adam off. Adam did a quick scan to make sure his manager wasn’t around, then flipped him off right back. 

***

Matthew got an A on his next Latin paper, which Adam took credit for, even though he was aware Declan had helped Matthew with this too. As much as he loved stories of Declan and his childhood, it was frankly infuriating how he was paying Adam to teach Matthew Latin, when he believed he was so capable of Latin himself. Still, Adam couldn’t help but be tremendously proud of his little student. 

“Did you show Declan this?” Adam asked, tapping at the paper. “He’d probably be thrilled.” 

“Nah,” Matthew said. “Declan says it’s a waste of time.” 

Adam’s eyebrows rose to his forehead. “Really?” he said. 

“Yeah, he was never a fan of Latin.” 

“But I thought you said he loved Latin.” 

Matthew’s brow furrowed. “Did I?” he asked. “So weird. Why would I say that?” 

Adam’s mouth opened, and then closed again. He felt it again, that strange feeling in his chest, like something was out of sync. He pushed it from his mind. Perhaps Matthew took the act of hiding Latin poetry as confirmation that his brother didn’t like the dead language. 

“What does your brother like then?” he asked. 

“Hmm?” Matthew asked. He was sketching on his notebook now, doodling black birds into the margins. 

“You said he likes the farm, and poetry.” 

“Oh!” Matthew said, suddenly exuberant. “He likes stories.” 

“Stories?” Adam asked. 

“Well, like folktales. Irish folktales. When we lived in the Barns together he would tell me stories before bed. I never used to have nightmares when he did that.” 

It was another one of those titbits about Declan that made Adam’s gut clench. Declan Lynch with his sharp eyes and sharper tongue did not seem the type to sit and tell his brother bedtime stories, but he apparently had. Stories wrapped up in their heritage and culture. Stories with the power to banish bad dreams. 

“He has bad dreams a lot,” Matthew said. “And he doesn’t sleep much. So sometimes he stays up and reads. Right now he’s really into Greek Mythology. He told me the story of Zephyrus. Do you know it?” 

Adam did, in fact, know it. It wasn’t so much a story of Zephyrus as it was the story of Apollo and a boy he was desperately in love with. It was a story that had given Adam comfort in his youth as it helped him realise that he wasn’t the only one who had feelings for both men and women. He may have been overthinking things, but he wondered why that was the tale Declan had chosen to tell Matthew. 

“He told you the story of Zephyrus?” Adam asked, fiddling with a pen. He hoped his voice sounded insouciant. 

“Well,” Matthew said. “He was really telling me the story of Apollo.”

“He tells you a lot of stories, then?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “But I think there’s something about that one.” 

Matthew must have seen the look on Adam’s face because he gave him a nod and a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I think that’s why he’s not been dating anyone.” 

“Cause he’s a giant nerd?” Adam joked. 

“I think,” Matthew said, “he likes someone.” 

***

Ronan came back a week later, without his friends. Adam’s line was full, but Ronan waited in it anyway, and when he approached the counter, all he threw on it was a pack of gum. Still, he dawdled around for a whole five minutes before paying, making jabs at Adam until Adam informed him that there was a line and that he had to move along. 

He showed up again two days later with a cart full of chips. 

“Having a party?” Adam asked, dryly. 

“You weren’t here yesterday,” Ronan said, picking lint off his shirt. 

“Are you in here every day?” Adam asked, scoffing. 

“Aren’t _you_?” 

“I work here Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Adam said. “I wouldn’t be working here at all, but the auto body shop doesn’t need me to come in every day.” 

“You work at Boyd’s,” Ronan said, suddenly, catching his eye. “I knew I’d seen your dour expression somewhere before.” 

That might have been why Ronan looked so familiar. Adam gave him a quick glance. He felt like he would have remembered Ronan, but he couldn’t recall any specific incident. 

“I’d had an accident,” Ronan said. “Busted fender. You fixed it up.” 

“Oh,” Adam said. “When was this?” 

Ronan shrugged, biting the leather bands on his wrist. He paused for a moment, then dropped his hand. 

“A few years ago.” 

“I don’t…” he paused, casting his gaze on Ronan. “I don’t think you would have been old enough to drive then.” 

Ronan shrugged, but he looked a little uncomfortable, which was a startling contrast to when he’d been in the store before, trying to get Adam to let him buy beer. 

“I was… not in a good place,” Ronan said. 

Adam could sense he didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the topic to cars until he finished ringing him up. Ronan handed over more crumpled bills. 

“See you next Tuesday,” he said. 

Adam laughed, thinking it was a joke. 

But Ronan was back the next week, wearing an open collared white shirt that was rolled up to his forearms. Adam’s gaze lingered a little too long on the light smattering of hair on his chest before he realised he should be scanning his items. 

“What garbage are you here to buy today?” Adam asked, pleasantly. 

The shopping cart was filled with chocolate bars. Adam picked up a bar of Toblerone to scan it. 

“I always felt the big ones tasted better than the regular ones,” Adam said. “Or even the little ones. But the regular-sized ones just don’t taste as good. Do you feel that?” 

He looked up to find Ronan staring at him. Something twinged in the pit of Adam’s gut. 

“They’re all the same,” Ronan said, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck where the lines of his tattoo were visible. 

“They’re not,” Adam said. “The big ones have the perfect chocolate to nougat ratio. My grandmother brought me a big Toblerone from the airport once and it was the best gift I ever received…” 

The words died on his tongue when he realised what a pathetic thing that was to say.With the amount of money Ronan threw on junk food every day, with the kind of clothes Ronan wore and the BMW car keys he carried around with him, Adam knew Ronan was wealthy. How lame would it seem to him that Adam thought a chocolate bar was the best gift he’d ever gotten? 

Adam cleared his throat. “I’m exaggerating,” he clarified. 

Ronan didn’t say anything, but he was looking at Adam intensely again, eyes taking in the details of Adam’s face. Adam swallowed. He pulled out the next item from the shopping cart - a bouquet of orchids. 

“These are nice,” Adam remarked, eyeing them.

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “Orchis.” 

“Orchids,” Adam said, surprised. 

Ronan frowned at him. “You know Latin?” 

“ _You_ know Latin?” 

“We have to do it in school,” Ronan said, waving it off. “Fucking waste of time.” 

“Right. Popular opinion, apparently,” Adam muttered. “I love it anyway.” 

“You love Latin?” Ronan asked. He sounded almost suspicious, like Adam was lying to him. 

“That’s $36.75,” Adam said, with a sigh. 

He didn’t want to hear about how Latin was a waste of time, how no one spoke it any more and that he’d never get a use out of it. It had been something he’d begun to study only to spite his father, but he’d grown to love it, was jealous that Matthew and other Aglionby boys were actually _encouraged_ to learn it. 

“Right,” Ronan said, turning away. 

Ronan rummaged around in his pocket, and Adam could have sworn that when he reached out to pay, his hand lingered on Adam’s. 

Adam, for his part, was a little distracted by the spark he felt when Ronan’s fingers touched his. So much so, that it wasn’t until after Ronan had left when he noticed the Toblerone had been left behind.  

***

Adam carried the book around for three tutoring sessions before he caught Declan alone. He’d said goodbye to Matthew in his room and then walked out into the living room where Declan was watching the news, a can of beer by his elbow.

“Hi,” Adam said, suddenly a little flustered. 

Declan looked surprised to see him. 

“Oh,” he said. “Hi.” 

He’d stopped walking Adam to the door now. He seemed to have become used to Adam’s presence in the house, and didn’t seem to mind when Adam dawdled a little longer with Matthew. Some days when Matthew wanted to show Adam his old collection of action figures or show him the bookshelf in Declan’s bedroom, Adam was at the house for longer than his allotted two hours and Declan didn’t even blink an eye. It was nice that Declan had grown to trust him, but Adam was disappointed at the lack of opportunities he had to spend time with the older Lynch brother. 

Adam had decided that Declan was - in fact - good-looking. He particularly liked his cheek-bones, sharp and prominent, and he was a fan of his messy black curls. Though there was still something in his gaze, in the press of his lips, that made Adam feel a little uncomfortable. 

“Matthew… uh…,” Adam scratched the back of his hand. “He mentioned you liked Greek mythology. There was this book I loved as a kid, and I uh… well, I thought you might enjoy it.” 

Adam quickly slipped his backpack off his shoulder, and pulled the book out. 

Declan was staring at him, eyes blank. When Adam extended the book towards him, he glanced at it briefly before returning his gaze to Adam. He made no motion to take it from him. 

“I think you’re mistaken,” he said, his voice clipped. “I can’t stand anything to do with history and mythology.” 

Adam stared at him for a second, before recoiling, pulling the book back towards him. He could feel his ears growing warm and he pretended to be preoccupied with stuffing the book back into his backpack so he wouldn’t have to look at Declan’s face. 

“Oh sorry,” he said, keeping his voice steady, though it was threatening to go high with shame. “I must have misunderstood.” 

“Matthew said that _I_ like Greek Mythology?” Declan asked, confused. 

“Well, yes. He said you liked Irish folktales and that you’d just developed an interest in ancient Greece and myths and…” 

“Oh,” Declan curled his lip, settling back on the sofa. “He wasn’t talking about me. He’s talking about our brother.” 

Adam blinked. “Huh?” 

“He doesn’t live here. He lives with his friends.” He gave Adam a look. “Middle child. You know how it is.” 

“Sure,” Adam said, though he felt bewildered. 

Everything Matthew had said to him about ‘his brother’ went cycling through his mind. How much of what he’d said was about Declan, and how much was about this mysterious other brother? All this time, had Adam been crushing on someone he’d never even met? The thought was acutely embarrassing. 

“I could pass it along to him, if you’d like,” Declan said, nodding at Adam’s backpack. “I’m going to meet him on Sunday. He’ll pretend to hate it, but I’ll bet he’ll read it from cover to cover. Everything he does is just a giant farce. Deep down he’s a complete nerd.” 

“Right,” Adam said. He was too flustered to say anything else, so he pulled the book out and gave it to Declan. “Hope he enjoys it.” 

Declan nodded at Adam and then turned back to the news. Adam waited until he was out on the sidewalk before slapping his own forehead and calling himself a fucking idiot. 

***

Adam woke up the next morning with a headache and a terrible mood. It was one of those days where he couldn’t pin-point _why_ he was in a terrible mood - whether it was because of his restless sleep due to the sound of fighting outside his window that went on for a solid three hours, or his bad dreams about his father showing up at his doorstep, or the fact that Matthew had confused him into thinking he had a crush on Declan when he had _actually_ developed a crush on some random third guy who he hadn’t even met.

It didn’t help that his mother called him up that morning to say she needed money, and that Adam didn’t know whether he should give it to her or not. 

The combination of everything made Adam unusually grouchy, and so when Ronan showed up again in a tight black tank that showed off his arms and more of that tattoo that made Adam’s stomach tighten for some absurd reason, and started teasing Adam about the grease behind his ear and the uniform he was forced to wear, it was already bad enough. But then Joseph Kavinsky walked in. 

Adam didn’t know many Aglionby boys, but he knew Joseph Kavinsky. He was infamous in their town, particularly for a brutal fourth of July party he had hosted where a boy ended up getting half his face burned off by a firework. But Adam also knew Kavinsky through personal experience. 

“Fuckweasel!” Kavinsky called out, and Adam and Ronan turned in sync to where he stood by a rack of magazines, lifting a cigarette above his head. 

Adam was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to smoke inside, but then again, Kavinsky had gotten away with much worse. 

He sauntered over to them, snatching a celebrity magazine off the stand and dumping it into Ronan’s pile of toilet paper and toothpaste. 

“Kavinsky,” Ronan said, his voice calm. 

Kavinsky’s face split into a grin that looked more like a grimace and less like an actual smile a human would make. The smell of smoke on his clothes mixed with his disgustingly expensive cologne. Everything about him was sleazy and rich and Adam hated it. 

“Haven’t seen you since my party,” Kavinsky said. He didn’t acknowledge Adam, kept his eyes fixed on Ronan in a way that made Adam grit his teeth. “Where’ve you been hiding?” 

Ronan pressed his lips together. “I’ve been busy.” 

“Shit man,” Kavinsky said. “Your girlfriend really has you pussywhipped.” 

_Girlfriend?_ Adam’s eyes flicked to Ronan, but his expression betrayed nothing. 

“Get the fuck out of here, man,” Ronan said to Kavinsky. 

Kavinsky moved closer to Ronan. Ronan didn’t back away, didn’t seem perturbed with Kavinsky being so near, with him entering his personal space. Adam felt suddenly - awkwardly - like he was witnessing something intimate and it made him all kinds of uncomfortable.

“You coming to my place tonight?” he asked. “Or you spending the evening chasing Dick like a fucking lapdog.” 

Adam didn’t understand what was happening - whether Kavinsky was making some kind of homophobic comment, or whether he was insinuating Ronan wanted a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, or whether they were flirting right here, in front of him, while he stood there holding out a bill for four rolls of toilet paper, three tubes of toothpaste, a bottle of cold coffee, and a magazine that told him Chris Hemsworth was the sexiest man alive. 

“I said I’m busy, man,” Ronan said. 

“Suit yourself,” Kavinsky said. 

He grabbed the cold coffee and made to open it, but it slipped from his hand, falling to the ground with a brilliant crash. Ronan jumped back as the brown liquid splashed all over the floor, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. Adam’s heart clenched, though he didn’t know if it was because money was being wasted or because he would have to clean it up.

Kavinsky turned to Adam, meeting his eye. “Oops,” he said. 

He pushed off the counter, walking away without giving Adam a second-look. Adam’s blood felt hot, like it was boiling in his veins. 

“What a fucking asshole,” Ronan said. 

“He’s your friend?” Adam asked, his voice tight. 

“He’s in school with me,” Ronan muttered. “But yeah, we’ve known each other for a while.” 

And just like that, Adam remembered the first time he’d ever met Ronan. The memory hit him with a force that almost made him wobble. He’d just started working at Boyd’s, and a group of boys in white shirts and purple sweaters had walked in, led by Joseph Kavinsky. Adam could barely remember Ronan - knew for a fact that there was no boy with a tattoo and a shaved head - but now he could conjure up a vague memory of a boy with dark curls, a boy who wore Ronan’s sharp smirk. He’d stood on Kavinsky’s right side, as Kavinsky - in his tinted sunglasses, with the waistband of his boxers sticking out from his trousers - handed Adam the keys to a dinged up black BMW. There was a boy with a strange name that began with P on Kavinsky’s left. They had asked Adam to take a look at the car, and when Adam got to his feet, the boy who’s name began with P tripped him, sending him sprawling onto the dusty ground. The harsh laughter of the boys had cut him, had seared his skin. 

Kavinsky had come back once more after that. He and a boy named Jiang had squirted Adam with a paint gun, ruining his new shoes. His father had been so angry he’d hit Adam in the throat. In the days it took Adam to recover - all alone, lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling - he came to the decision that he hated all Aglionby boys. 

And here he was, tutoring one and flirting with another.

So of course Ronan had to be Kavinsky’s friend. Of course Ronan had to be one of the boys who had come in and laughed at Adam. Of course Ronan had to be one of the boys who had humiliated him in front of Boyd when Adam was trying so desperately to make himself seem like someone older and more capable than he was. 

Adam glanced down at the mess Kavinsky had created and snorted. It was such an ugly sound that Ronan looked up, surprised. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Should have known you were an Aglionby boy.” 

Ronan’s brow furrowed. Adam jerked a thumb in Kavinsky’s direction. 

“Only Aglionby boys act like that. You guys are just dicks to anyone who isn’t rich.” 

Ronan looked a little bewildered, and for some reason, it made Adam even angrier. 

“Just like that time in Boyd’s,” Adam said. “I almost got fired for that, you know? Boyd saw you three picking on me and he said he thought I was too young to be working for him. Can’t even imagine what my dad would have said…” 

Ronan’s expression changed sharply. He looked like he’d been scalded. 

“I thought you didn’t…” he swallowed. “Adam, it was… years ago… I was…” 

But the memory was still fresh, considering how many times Adam had re-lived it when he wanted to feel like shit about himself. He wondered how he hadn’t realised that’s why Ronan looked familiar. His cruel laughter had haunted Adam for years. 

“It’s almost like people who work in supermarkets aren’t real people, huh?” Adam snapped. 

“Why are you being an asshole?” Ronan demanded. “I know I was an idiot back then, but when did I ever come in here and treat you like shit?” 

“Oh right, because every time you come in here you’re just a perfect fucking gentleman, aren’t you? Literally all you do is come in here and insult me and waste my time. Like I have nothing better to do than sit here and talk to you…” 

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but it was too late. Ronan’s expression hardened. There was that anger within Adam, anger that had been cultivated throughout his childhood, and it was overwhelming him. That frustration at losing sleep, that helplessness at the nightmares that were still plaguing him, that fury at the knowledge that he couldn’t outrun his father and his life, that he still felt like he owed his mother something, that ignoring her request made him guilty. 

And then there was the plain and simple anger that stemmed from the fact that Kavinsky had once again reminded Adam that next to someone like Ronan he was utterly worthless. 

Ronan straightened up from where he was leaning against Adam’s counter and his eyes flickered, even though his expression remained still. Adam knew that look in his eyes was pain, and he hated himself for causing it. 

“Sorry,” Ronan said, his voice tight, but there was something underlying in his words that made Adam’s heart clench. “I didn’t realise I was bothering you that much.” 

Adam’s thoughts were roaring now. There was a calloused hand on his throat, squeezing out his breath. He wanted to say something, _anything._ But nothing came out. Ronan shoved a credit card in Adam’s hands. 

“Lynch!” 

Adam and Ronan turned again. Kavinsky stood by the entrance. 

“Get my magazine, will you? I’m making a fucking bonfire in the parking lot.” 

Adam’s heart had stopped. Ronan said nothing, did nothing. His mouth was still pressed very thin. Adam turned to stare at him, suddenly remembering the curls he had when he’d come into Boyd’s. 

_Lynch._

Adam looked down at the credit card in his hands. 

_Ronan Niall Lynch._

Adam stared at it. He wondered then why he’d never thought about how Ronan’s name was Irish. Why it hadn’t struck him that Ronan knew the Latin word for ‘Orchid.’ 

“I’m sorry about the coffee,” Ronan muttered. “You can charge me extra for that.” 

Adam looked up at him, disoriented. Ronan wasn’t looking at him anymore. Adam swiped the card, his actions automatic, eyes darting to Ronan’s face and then back at the register. Now he knew why Ronan looked to damn familiar. It wasn’t the incident at Boyd’s; Ronan’s eyes were the same light blue eyes that brightly greeted Adam at the start of every tutoring session, the same icy blue eyes that Declan regarded him coolly with at the end of every session. Ronan had the same sharp cheekbones as his older brother, and his hair was buzzed short to hide the same messy curls that Declan had.

Ronan grabbed the card from Adam’s hand. He didn’t look at him as he unzipped his backpack to shove his items into. As he did, Adam looked inside and saw a book. 

His book. 

***

Matthew looked a little low when he opened the door to Adam, which wouldn’t have been alarming if it was anyone else, but was terribly alarming when it was Matthew Lynch. 

Adam’s own problems suddenly seemed irrelevant. 

“Are you alright?” Adam asked, as he shut the door behind himself. He was trying to keep his voice calm, but nervousness pricked at his heart. 

“I guess,” Matthew said. 

But the way he trudged to his room told a different story. Adam followed him. 

“You seem…” Adam struggled for the right word, “down.” 

“My brother is sad,” he said. “When he’s sad, I’m sad.” 

Adam had to swallow down his next question - _which brother?_

“Is that all?” 

Matthew sat down at his desk, staring unseeingly at the textbook before him. 

“No,” he said. “Some boys said something at school today, and I’ve been thinking a lot about it.” 

Adam watched him for a moment, taking in his solemn expression, so vastly different from the exuberant smile he usually wore. Adam eased himself into the chair besides Matthew. 

“What did they say?” he asked, gently. 

Adam waited patiently for Matthew to take the bait, hoping to convey with his silence that they didn’t have to talk about it if Matthew didn’t want to, but Matthew looked up, familiar light blue eyes wide. 

“They said I’m a baby,” Matthew said. “That there’s something wrong with me.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Matthew,” Adam said, gently. “ADHD is…” 

“It’s not that,” Matthew said, abruptly. “It’s something else.” 

“Oh.” 

“Remember how I said…,” Matthew hesitated, then turned away from Adam. He took another moment before saying anything. “Remember how I said I don’t want to date girls?” 

Adam took a moment to compose himself. “You want… to date boys?” he asked, quietly. 

That Adam could deal with. Adam had first hand experience with that. But Matthew turned back to him, his expression still raw. 

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to date anyone.” 

“That’s fine,” Adam said. 

“I thought it was fine,” Matthew said. “But all the boys in my class are obsessed with girls, you know? All they talk about all the time is how they want to kiss them and hold their hands, and do… other stuff. And they talk about which girls are pretty, and which girls are hot…,” Matthew ran a hand through his curls. “I don’t really get any of that. Like… I can see that some girls are pretty, but that’s it? What am I supposed to do if they’re pretty? They’re nice to look at… but like… I don’t see why my friends have to talk about it all the time.” 

He bit his lip, and Adam steeled himself. 

“I asked my best friend today,” Matthew said. “You know Ben? I told you about him. So I told him that I don’t get what’s so exciting about girls, and he said I don’t understand because I’m still like a baby. He said that when boys start wanting to do things with girls is when they’re grown up.” 

Adam felt his stomach tighten inside of him. He could remember the boys in his class when he was 15, obsessing over first-kisses and touching breasts, and Adam feeling awkward because he was realising it wasn’t just girls he was developing an attraction towards. He couldn’t imagine being in Matthew’s place, and not understanding why he didn’t have that attraction at all. 

Hesitantly, Adam reached out and touched Matthew’s shoulder. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said again, and this time he said it with as much conviction as he could muster, so that there would be no doubt in Matthew’s mind. 

Matthew blinked. His eyes seemed to get a little misty. “Am I just growing up slower than normal? Is that why I don’t want to kiss anyone?” 

“Maybe,” Adam said. “Maybe not. Some boys want to kiss girls, and some boys want to kiss boys, and some boys want to kiss both, and some want to kiss neither. There aren’t any rules for this kind of thing. The important thing is that you do what you’re comfortable doing, ok?” 

Matthew swallowed hard. “And that’s ok?” he asked, and his voice sounded small, far away. 

“Of course that’s ok,” Adam said. He realised he sounded almost aggressive, but he couldn’t bear the thought of someone hurting Matthew, of someone making a kid like him feel like there was something wrong with him. Adam had an overwhelming desire to give this _Ben_ a piece of his mind, but he repressed it. “If you don’t want to date anyone… if you _never_ want to date anyone, that’s perfectly fine, alright? It doesn’t make you weird, and it doesn’t make you a freak. If that’s what you want to do, do it. The important thing is that you just keep being you.” 

“I’m not that great though,” Matthew said, tracing the lines on his notebook. 

Adam squeezed Matthew’s shoulder, enough to get his attention. “Matthew, you are one of the coolest kids I know. If you ever try to be anyone but yourself, it will be a complete tragedy. Do you understand me?” 

Finally, Matthew’s smile appeared, hesitant but still luminescent. “You really think I’m cool?” 

“The coolest,” Adam promised. 

“You only think that cause you haven’t met my brother,” Matthew said. 

“Who? Ronan?” Adam scoffed, without thinking. “You’re cooler than him.” 

Matthew’s eyes widened. “You know Ronan?” 

Adam felt his face flood with heat. “Oh,” he said. “I… yeah, sort of? I met him at the supermarket.” 

“He didn’t tell me that!” Matthew said. “I met him at church just yesterday. I wonder why he didn’t tell me?” 

“Church?” 

“We go to church every Sunday together,” Matthew said, and he was back to being as amicable as usual. “And then we get breakfast. But yesterday Declan had to go for a meeting, so Ronan took me to get ice cream instead. Don’t tell Declan though, he doesn’t think ice cream for breakfast is a good idea.” 

It was still hard to conflate Ronan with the image of the Lynch brother who wrote Latin poetry and liked baby animals, but with each passing minute it seemed to make more and more sense that Ronan was the Lynch brother Adam had really been pining for. He wanted to tell Matthew that Ronan didn’t know who he was. He wanted to confess he’d been rude to his brother and that Ronan was never going to show up to the supermarket again because Adam was a jerk who’d decided to scare away the only person whose presence he’d ever looked forward to at the store. He wanted to ask about Ronan’s girlfriend or boyfriend - the one who liked orchids, the one Kavinsky said he liked to spend all his time with. 

Instead Adam blurted out, “Every Sunday?” 

Matthew smiled, and there was something eerily knowing in it. “St. Agnes,” he said. “Do you know it?” 

Adam nodded.

“See you next Sunday then,” Matthew said, turning back to his books. 

***

Adam felt stupid. 

It was freezing cold, and his hoodie was thin and old and he was standing outside a church waiting to accost a boy who probably had a girlfriend, or was… dating Kavinsky… or something. 

Still. If Ronan wasn’t going to come to the supermarket to let him apologise, then he was going to have to track him down and do it, even if that meant accosting him outside a place of worship. 

The universe really did hate him. Not only did Adam not catch on to the fact that Matthew had a third brother, but Adam had stupidly thought it was Declan - who was seriously _not_ his type - and _then_ it turned out to be the obnoxious, but actually kind of adorable, guy from the supermarket, who had once been a dick to Adam and was… admittedly, still a dick, but in a way that Adam kind of liked. But then Adam had proceeded to alienate him because he was having a terrible day and because he was the worst and because the universe really did hate him. 

And continuing this horrible, terrible trend, it was Adam’s extremely unfortunate luck that Declan was the first one out of the church. 

“Adam,” he said stopping in his tracks, his eyebrows rising to his forehead. “What are you doing here?” 

Ronan walked out next, and almost crashed into Declan’s back when he saw Adam. Adam glanced quickly at him, and then returned his attention to Declan, feeling flustered. 

“Uh, I’m… looking for an apartment. New apartment. I hear they… have ones above the church.” 

Declan glanced up at the apartments above the office of St. Agnes. 

“Oh,” he said. “I can’t imagine they’re very big though.” 

“Adam!” 

Adam turned just in time to be attack-hugged by Matthew. Ronan looked like someone who had just learned they were standing in a building that was about to blow up. 

“Hey Matthew,” Adam said, easily. 

Matthew continued hugging him, so Adam gently tapped his back. 

“Ronan,” Declan said, “this is Matthew’s tutor. He’s the one who sent that book for you.” 

“Oh,” Ronan said, blankly. “ _That_ nerd.” 

“Ronan,” Declan said, sharply. 

Ronan looked pointedly away from Adam and his brother. “He’s shit at Latin.” 

“Your grammar is all over the place,” Adam mumbled. 

Ronan shot him a glare. 

“Well,” Declan said, effectively ending their argument. “We were just going to walk over to _Gemma’s Waffles_ for breakfast, so we’ll see you later.” 

“Declan,” Matthew said, letting go of Adam. “I need to get my jacket from your car.” 

“I told you to get it earlier, Matthew.” 

“I know, but I forgot and it’s cold.” 

Declan let out a sigh of irritation but he pulled his keys from his pocket and started walking towards the parking lot. Matthew sent Adam a quick flash of a smile - too brief to have been anything but a signal - and then trailed after his brother. Ronan made to follow them, but Adam grabbed his hand.

“Uh,” he said. “Could I speak to you?” 

Ronan’s eyes found the spot where Adam’s fingers were pulling at his sleeve. Adam dropped his hand. 

“You’re _that_ Adam,” Ronan said, stiffly. 

Adam tugged at his own sleeve. “I guess,” he said. 

“Matthew doesn’t shut the fuck up about you.” 

“If it helps, he doesn’t shut up about you either.” 

Ronan turned away and started chewing on the leather bands on his wrist. 

“I didn’t know,” Adam said, quickly. “That you were Matthew’s brother. Not… until last time.”

“Ok,” Ronan said. 

“It’s lucky that you were, though,” Adam pressed on. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have known where to find you.”

This caught Ronan’s attention. He glanced at Adam, then away again. 

“I wanted to say sorry,” Adam said. “For last time. I was… upset. And tired. And… I took it out on you, and…” he breathed out sharply, so that the hair on his forehead fluttered. 

“Whatever,” Ronan said, but he turned away again, refusing eye contact with Adam. He scraped the concrete with his shoe. “I am sorry though. For what we did. I was a… I was a dick then. My dad… he’d just…” 

Adam could hear the crack in Ronan’s voice, and knew Ronan didn’t want to finish his sentence.

“We’ve all done stupid shit,” Adam blurted. “Like, me… just the other day when I said you were wasting my time. You don’t waste my time. In fact, I uh… I kind of miss you… weirdly. It’s… almost boring without you.”

Ronan looked flustered, and Adam caught a glimpse of the boy who wrote Latin poetry and hid it under his floorboards.

"What I mean to say is... uh... it's fine. I don't... hold it against you." 

"Cool." 

"Cool." 

There was a long silence that felt both awkward and heavy, like there was more to be said, but that neither of them knew how to say it. 

“Um. Thank you for what you said to Matthew the other day,” Ronan said finally, and his voice was a little strangled. “If you hadn’t cheered him up, I would have seriously gone over to that Ben kid’s house and fucking told him what’s what.” 

Adam grinned. “Sounds like fun. Let’s do it together.” 

Ronan snorted. “Also… that book. It… wasn’t actually that shitty. I mean… I liked it. Even though Matthew’s dumb nerdy tutor recommended it.” 

Adam laughed. “Well, I was trying to charm Matthew’s dumb nerdy brother who wrote Latin poetry and hid it under his floorboards.” 

Ronan swore in a way that both delighted and appalled Adam. 

“Fucking Matthew, he can’t keep anything a secret,” Ronan complained, running a hand over his head. Then he glanced up, gaze flickering. “You wanted to _charm_ me?” 

Adam felt his ears going hot. “Oh, well… you know… I didn’t…” Adam gestured at Ronan. “I didn’t know it was you.” 

Ronan’s gaze stilled, and Adam quickly added. “I mean I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” 

“Seeing someone?” Ronan asked, blankly. 

“Kavinsky talked about your girlfriend…? And about you chasing uh…” 

“Dick,” Ronan said. “Dick Gansey. He’s my best friend. You met him the other day.” 

“Oh. You’re dating…” 

“Fuck no. Kavinsky is just a jealous prick.” 

“But you were buying flowers…” 

“For my dad’s grave,” Ronan said. 

“Oh,” Adam said. 

It was an _oh_ not indicative of the absolute delight he was feeling. Which he was glad for, because it was frankly embarrassing how giddy he was. And talking about Ronan’s dead father was not an ideal moment for Adam to be overjoyed. 

“So you’re not…” Adam scratched the back of his ear. 

“I don’t think you’re aware of how much shit I have in my house,” Ronan said. “The closets in the kitchen are overflowing with chocolate and ramen and shit. Gansey is about ready to murder me.” 

Adam blinked at him. “Huh?” 

Ronan suddenly looked embarrassed. “Shit,” he said. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” 

“No wait, you mean…” Adam stared at him. 

“Dude, no one eats that many chips,” Ronan said. His tone was haughty, but Adam could tell he was flustered. Adam loved it. He wanted to keep doing things that made Ronan so nervous and breathless. 

Admittedly, Adam had a couple of ideas. 

“You were just…” Ronan gestured at Adam as though it explained anything.

Adam’s eyes went wide. 

“You didn’t…,” he swallowed, “have to buy so many chips.” 

“If I bought anything less than that you made me leave.” 

“You could have asked me when my shift ended.” 

“What? Are you… that would have been… weird. And I didn’t know if you…” 

“Who buys _three_ tubes of toothpaste just so they can talk to the cashier?” 

Ronan shrugged. “Which jerk cashier insults you in front of your friends?” 

Adam bit his lip, positive that his whole face was now pink. Maybe he could blame it on the cold. “Yeah, that was… inappropriate. Sorry.” 

“No, I didn’t mean.” Ronan tilted his head up, and then looked at Adam again. “It was… fine. I mean… I didn’t… mind it.” 

“Ah,” Adam said. He watched Ronan for a moment, noting that Ronan was looking everywhere but at him. “So… since you seem incapable of it. I’m going to ask you out, alright?” 

“I guess.” 

“How about Wednesday? After school.” 

“I guess that’s fine.” 

“Stop playing hard to get.” 

“Stop… being a loser.” 

“Good one.” 

“Wednesday is good.” 

“Awesome. See you then,” Adam paused, waiting for Ronan to look at him. He didn’t. “We can go scare Matthew’s friend Ben.”

Ronan finally cracked a smile, and it made Adam feel a thrill of nerves. It had been a while since someone had made him feel like that. 

“Don’t tell Matthew,” Ronan said. “About… this.” He gestured between them. “I insulted you a lot to him. Actually… don’t tell Declan. They’re going to rub this in my face and I want to put that off for as long as possible.” 

Adam smirked at him. “Deal,” he said. 

Adam scraped his shoe on the ground, and then opened his mouth to tell Ronan he should probably be going when Ronan frowned. 

“Wait…,” he said. “You said you wanted to charm _me_ , but Declan said you gave that book to _him_.”

“Right,” Adam said. “About that…” 

It was then that Matthew and Declan appeared, causing the conversation to be suspended, which was proof of that fact that the universe did not _actually_ completely hate Adam. 

Well, that, and the fact that he now had a really fucking cute new boyfriend.

** THE END  **


End file.
